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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909486">Disconnected</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paltr/pseuds/Paltr'>Paltr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abdominal distention, Blood, Bone Breaking, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Dubious use of magic, Extreme Underage, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mutual Non-Consent, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Trans Male Character, Vomiting, crossgenerational incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:21:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paltr/pseuds/Paltr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'...it’s only now that he realises just who this mess of a child belongs to—who he <em>is</em>.'</p><p>This isn't the first time Louisoix has forced Urianger to do something he didn't want to do—and it certainly won't be the last.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Louisoix Leveilleur/Alphinaud Leveilleur, Louisoix Leveilleur/Urianger Augurelt, Urianger Augurelt/Alphinaud Leveilleur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Disconnected</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh boy, this one's a doozy. Hard warning for underage and incest in case the tags were missed.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      Urianger remembers it like it was yesterday—walking into the chambers of Master Louisoix, eyes downcast out of respect, sensing something unfamiliar—something different. The very <em> atmosphere </em> around him seems thick, almost stiflingly so—a deep, heady musk and he breathes it in, chest aching—what is this <em> feeling?</em> The door closing behind him—<em>was it always that loud? </em> —and his master bids his eyes raised, and the sight before him—<em>oh, </em>it takes his breath away, thick and smoky as it slithers from between his lips. </p><p>      Louisoix sits tall and proud before him, shoulders squared and chest puffed, a tangle of limbs and rough cloth astride his lap. Pale skin streaked with blood and sweat, face painted with tears that drool from beneath a rough blindfold—it’s only now that he realises just who this mess of a child belongs to—who he <em> is. </em></p><p>      “Alphinaud…” The name slips past his slackened lips, eyes wide and shock written clear as day across his face, feet frozen to the floor. He daren’t move, daren’t look at his masters’ face—but he drinks in the sight of the boy in sheer <em> horror </em> , snivelling sobs only now reaching his ears, each breath the child draws a laboured wheeze, neck a bouquet of hand-shaped bruises pressed into tender flesh. He can <em> feel </em> the grin splitting across Louisoix’s face as he struggles to comprehend just what he sees, the unrelenting chill of being <em> numb </em> drooling through his veins. It’s only when the boy shifts astride his master, however, that Urianger sees him—<em>truly </em> sees him. Between those pale thighs that are <em> barely </em> the width of his own wrist the child’s puffy cunt is speared open, drooling blood obscenely around Louisoix’s swollen shaft with every minute flutter of musculature. </p><p>      “Look at me, boy.” His voice cuts through the room, air so thick, so <em> cloyingly thick, </em> and Urianger dares to raise his eyes to his master, emotions plain upon his face. Louisoix <em> laughs </em> at the myriad of emotions his young prodigy wears—shock, horror, <em> anger.  </em></p><p>      “Now now—there’s no need to be like that. Come,” he starts, moving his hips shallowly, Alphinaud crying weakly astride him, “you may share in this bounty.”</p><p>      Suddenly, the room turns <em> cold. </em> Gone is the familiarity that Urianger has once found within its walls, the warmth of praise and acceptance. He watches as it drains, colours oozing as they fade, the room bathed in a morbid greyscale, sharp reds rimming the child’s ruined cunt, mirroring in his masters’ lips as he grins. The room spins, shades of grey and <em> so much red </em> dancing, twirling sickeningly before him until it all melts together into one unholy mess and he finds himself on his knees, heaving desperately, choking for air as he pants and gags, his own sick slick and pungent between his fingers. He daren’t raise his eyes—to his master nor to the boy astride his lap, gaze heavily lidded as he looks upon his own mess, tears drooling thickly down his cheeks. </p><p>      “I can’t,” he sobs weakly, balling his fists against the vomit-soaked floor, the slickness against his skin making his stomach churn. There is a moment of silence—brief but blessed—before the click of heels makes its way to his side, stopping mere ilms from his hunched, trembling figure. No words are spoken, but the toe of his master’s shoe finds the underside of his chin, tilting his tearful gaze upwards—and he finds himself gazing up at Louisoix, blood-smeared cock hanging heavy and drooling so near to his vomit-soaked lips. </p><p>      “You can, and you <em> will</em>.” A hand finds the mess of Urianger’s hair and drags him forwards, a shaky gasp tearing from him all his master needs to force his grimy cock between those parted lips and he can’t <em> help </em> but to gag, trying to pull away but the grip in his hair is insistent—bile rises hot in his throat and spills past his lips as he sobs, snot and tears coating his face as the viscous fluid streaks down his chin. It splatters audibly as it hits the growing pool of sick and Louisoix pushes him back abruptly, a stinging slap delivered to his face before he finds himself shoved roughly to the floor, face pressed into his own mess.</p><p>      “I taught you <em> better</em>, boy.” It’s all that Urianger can do to keep his eyes scrunched shut, feeling the sting of stomach acid as his sick invades his nose, the scent so pungent that he hacks up another mouthful of bile, curling in on himself with a broken noise of defeat. It’s only when he <em> finally </em> quietens that Louisoix backs away with a huff, head <em> aching </em> even long after the weight of his masters’ heel has lifted. Urianger stays like that though, trembling as he lays within his own sick—Louisoix <em> had </em> taught him better than to move unbidden, after all. He remains after that, not daring to move for some time but the sounds he hears reveal all—a soft, broken sob and the <em> unmistakable </em> sound of bones breaking, a high cry muffled behind an undoubtedly much larger hand. </p><p>      “Allow me to extend this offer once more.” It’s only then that Urianger dares to raise his head, hair a matted mess of acidic sick and tears, gaze empty as he meets his master’s eyes. </p><p>      “Consider this… a gift. A show of goodwill, if you would.” The meaning behind his words drains any remaining colour from his face but Urianger <em> knows </em> that he isn’t in a position to deny the wishes of the man before him, head still spinning and abdomen <em> aching </em> in protest as he clambers shakily to his feet. He’s barely even aware of his own footsteps as he moves, soul long since departed from mortal flesh. The desk cuts into the underside of his thighs as he sits but he daren’t complain—lest of all when Louisoix picks up Alphinaud from the crumpled heap he’d become beside his chair, discarding him roughly upon the desk. One would believe the boy a corpse were it not for the weak groan of pain slipping from his split lips, limbs twitching feebly in a clear effort to do something— <em> anything. </em> Urianger stares at Alphinaud, words dying on his tongue—this was the same boy that he’s known since he was a mere <em> infant</em>, the child that he’s cared for so tenderly, reading him bedtime stories and tucking him in oh so gently—</p><p>      “Well?” His gaze snaps back to Louisoix, the man sat once more astride his throne, languidly stroking his flagging cock, skin still slick with vomit. “Alphinaud. <em> Service </em> this good man.” </p><p>      The words seem to stir the broken, bloodied mess of limbs beside him to life- the boy rises shakily to his knees beside him, and <em> oh </em> he’s such a slender thing—ribs jutting from beneath skin and muscle, veins visible against his porcelain complexion. He crawls towards Urianger, body sagging with each motion as he leans gingerly upon a <em> clearly </em> broken arm, lips forever parted in a silent scream of agony, blood drooling down the boys’ chin. Urianger stares up at Louisoix, wide-eyed and <em> terrified </em> as the child reaches for him blindly with a trembling hand, grasping at the robes that had once served to protect him. A second hand grasps for him—balance unsteady and vision denied to him, the boy misses. Alphinaud is thrown off-balance and before Urianger can stop himself he has the child wrapped safely within his arms, pressing his thin, bloodied body protectively against his own. Soft, whimpering sobs spill from Alphinaud’s lips as his hands fist into Uriangers’ robes, but from the frown upon his masters’ face this wasn’t his intention—and he puts the child down beside him, heartbeat pulsing in his ears, guilt coiling deep within his gut. </p><p>      Despite everything, Alphinaud is deft with his hands once he gathers his bearings—<em> experienced </em> , even. It’s only a matter of moments before the child has Urianger’s robes pooled around his waist, hands cold as they grope at his flaccid cock. He can’t help but to shiver under Alphinaud’s touch, his own hands curling around the edge of the desk, the surface groaning beneath his grasp—he’ll be damned if he partakes willingly in this <em> depravity </em> . He does his very best to ignore the feeling of another's hands upon him- thinks of anything and everything he can to dissuade the reactions his body seems eager to provide. Cute animals, his elderly grandparents, even trying to focus on the scent of his own sick that lingers within his nose—but nothing can distract adequately from the feeling of deft hands working his cock, small palms and tiny fingers knowing <em> just </em> where to work to make Urianger harden beneath his touch. </p><p>      “See? It isn’t <em> all </em> that bad, is it?” Urianger <em> hates </em> the way that Louisoix chuckles before him even as his cock twitches within Alphinauds’ tiny hands, drooling against his soft skin. What he hates even more is the fact that he’s <em> right</em>, immediately yearning for the child’s touch once more when his hands disappear from his aching shaft. He daren’t gaze at Alphinaud—he doesn’t <em> want </em> to remember the sight of him, not like this. Urianger glares daggers at Louisoix but doesn’t humor him with a response even as the boy beside him crawls atop his lap, cunt drooling blood and come, smearing it against his skin. </p><p>      His master is fully hard now—eyes gleaming in lust as he strokes his sticky cock, tongue snaking wetly across dry lips as Alphinaud grinds his cunt against Urianger’s too-hard cock.</p><p>      “Don’t,” he whimpers weakly but the boy above him doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment—reaching down with a shaking hand to grasp the grimy shaft beneath him. A soft, shaky breath is the only warning Urianger gets before he’s engulfed in that warm, deep heat—cock bruising against the boys’ womb, blood drooling down what of his shaft Alphinaud can’t stuff into himself. His hips twitch of their own accord, a whimper tearing from his throat as the boy clenches around him—and Louisoix has the gall to <em> laugh </em> at the fresh tears cutting their way down Urianger’s face. </p><p>      “I always knew you were a crier, but <em> this</em>?” Urianger trembles beneath the mere <em> child </em> atop his lap, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to keep his composure. “<em>This </em> is something else.” The moment he dares to crack an eye open to gaze upon his master bile rises hot in his throat once more—Louisoix is stroking himself feverishly, <em> clearly </em> drawing out his own pleasure to enjoy the show before him. His eyes are a hazy mess of pure lust, half-lidded but clearly locked upon the point where his grandson’s cunt is speared open upon Urianger’s cock, his prized student biting into the palm of his hand hard enough to draw blood. When his hand comes away from his mouth his split lips are <em> dripping</em>, blood trickling down his chin in rivulets as his hands find Alphinaud’s hips, digging roughly into his flesh. </p><p>      “Stop,” Urianger pleads upon deaf ears, chest aching as he breathes in thick, stale air. Alphinaud <em> sobs </em> above him and it draws his attention—notices the bloodied, bruising hand prints pressed into his slender hips, a mirror image of his own grasp- and it’s all he can do to turn his head to the side before heaving thick, acidic strings of bile through choked cries of pure <em> anguish</em>. Louisoix grunts lowly, and he knows all too well the noise that spills from his lips as he comes—and Urianger feels it splatter against the side of his face as he retches harshly, hot and thick as it drools down his face, swept away by tears threatening to run dry. </p><p>      Despite<em> everything </em> —the pain, the blood, the vomit and come marring his skin- Urianger finds himself teetering on the edge, cock <em> aching </em> as Alphinaud rides him, energy clearly wavering as his tiny hips stutter uselessly atop him. Urianger shifts his grip against his bloodied skin, careful so as to not hurt the boy as he uses him like a <em> fucktoy</em>, weighing next to nothing in his grasp. It doesn't take him long like this and with every thrust a little more of his cock slips into Alphinaud's bloodied cunt, pummelling at his bruised womb, the child's cries mere background noise as Urianger chases his release. He'll come to regret this later, looking at the mess of bloodied spend that flows from Alphinaud's cunt, <em> clearly </em> torn asunder upon his own cock. Watching in horror as the boy tries to stand, collapsing in on himself with a broken sob as a leg gives out beneath him with a sickening <em> snap</em>, splintered bone piercing through his flesh, glistening obscenely in the waning candlelight. For now, though, Urianger chases his bliss—fucking up into Alphinaud as he brings him crashing down upon him, the tight <em> heat </em> just so much, it's too much—</p><p>      When he comes, time seems to stand still. No longer is he the broken man sitting upon the desk but an outsider, looking in on the scene with fresh eyes—and by the time he realises what he's done, what he's set in motion—it's too late, it's too <em> fucking </em> late. It crashes into him all at once—the tight heat around his cock, blood smearing messily on his lap as he hilts himself fully in the boy, a choked cry spilling from chapped, cracking lips. Urianger clings desperately to reality, the pleasure threatening to sweep him away entirely even as he hears the crack of hips beneath his hands, the screams of the child above him <em> piercing </em> as his tiny womb floods with come. </p><p>      He doesn't realise that his eyes had slipped shut until he comes fully back to reality—to Alphinaud dazed and limp atop him, to the splitting grin Louisoix wears and the sparkle of perverse pride in his eyes. Urianger can <em> feel </em> the unnatural shift of bone beneath his hands as he releases the boy carefully, feels his cock jump when he notices the swelling of Alphinaud's gut—rounded and aching, clearly <em> struggling </em> to hold all that he had to give. The boy is barely of this world after such heavy use, hardly recognisable as the grandson of the great Archon Louisoix save for that same rough blindfold he bore earlier, skin scratched raw beneath it and soaked in the salt of his tears.</p>
<hr/><p>      He wakes with a start, choking on a cry that threatens to spill from parched lips, skin streaked with tears and sweat. The sheets are soaked against Urianger’s skin but he pulls them tight against himself, almost as if their protection could appease the guilt nipping at his heels, the poison that lingers potent on his tongue. It’s this guilt that has him staggering through the halls of the Leveilleur estate, barely lucid—his dream still fresh in his mind, echoes of Alphinaud’s screams still ringing in his ears as he tries in vain to quieten uneven footsteps. </p><p>      Urianger pauses at the door to the twin’s chambers. He knows he looks just as bad as he feels—mayhaps even <em> worse</em>, the ocean of emotions still so raw, currents of guilt and anger and <em> lust </em> threatening to pull him under, dragging him out to sea. The knob of the door is cold and solid beneath his hand- grounding, almost. A deep, shaky breath escapes him as the door opens, a low candlelight illuminating the space—and before him, the object of his desires sleeps soundly, almost as if untroubled by the bruising staining his body. Urianger moves cautiously—one foot in front of another, unwilling to make so much as a sound, not daring to give away his presence. </p><p>      Alphinaud sleeps soundly, soft snores slipping past those plush, chapped lips- one would be easily mistaken to assume that his slumber was natural. This knowledge fuels Urianger, his touch on the boys’ skin soft—gentle, even, as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind a pointed ear, revelling in the softness of a vulnerable youth beneath his fingertips. He spares Alisaie a glance briefly before returning his attention to Alphinaud—his hand trailing down that soft jaw, light against his tender neck before it reaches the bruises that ring around it so beautifully—hues of purples and red bright against his pale skin. It’s hot beneath his touch, burning through his resolve and he pulls back as though the fire before him could spread—before he could indulge further in the feeling of it against his skin, heat incessant and oh so tempting. </p><p>      Despite the sight splayed before him—this beautiful boy already broken in, undoubtedly a bouquet of bruises and torn flesh beneath his nightclothes—Urianger resists. Louisoix had let him partake mere days ago as a <em> gift</em>; a show of trust and confidence between master and student. It’s that knowledge that has him admiring from afar—not daring to touch the child further, lest he disturb his slumber. His hands tremble even as he raises them, tapping into the abundance of aether and channelling it through mortal flesh, bathing Alphinaud in a soft glow. The feeling of casting without a focus is still new to him, aether prickling at his fingertips as he casts Physick with trembling hands, watching on with wide eyes as the bruises ringing the childs’ neck fade away, blending into his complexion before disappearing completely. </p><p>      He repeats the process over and over—until he finds himself on his knees before the boy, trembling with exhaustion as tears roll down his cheeks. It’s just as he did that fateful night, clumsily piecing the boy back together with medicine and magic alike until he resembled what one could call human once more—bones reset and flesh stitched together, Alphinaud’s very <em> being </em> swirling with the residual aether of spellcraft. Once again, Urianger finds himself in that same position, that same predicament—knelt before the boy as he sleeps soundly, palming roughly at his clothed cock as his shoulders tremble with silent sobs. He wonders just what Master Louisoix had done to the boy <em> this time—</em>just what sins Alphinaud had committed to invoke his grandfather’s ire. </p><p>      It hardly takes long before Urianger comes with a silent cry, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open as his cock pulses hot and heavy in his hand, come soaking his nightclothes. His chest heaves as he takes gasping breaths, hips twitching into his oversensitive touch—only when he can’t take any more does he release his cock, clambering shakily to his feet even through the aftershocks of orgasm. He mustn’t linger—not here, not now. </p><p>      Only once he reaches the safety of his chambers does Urianger allow himself the respite he craves, sinking into the cool sheets with a shaky, breathless sigh. He hopes—nay, he <em> prays </em>—that his master allows him the privilege of sharing in his bounty once more.</p>
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